


changing my major

by ictsgn



Category: Fun Home - Tesori/Kron, Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Broadway, Fluff, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Inspired by Fun Home, M/M, Makeup, Mild Smut, Musicals, Sexuality Crisis, Slurs, Song: Changing My Major (Fun Home), Songfic, help me please, this is why theatre kids shouldnt be emo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictsgn/pseuds/ictsgn
Summary: i don’t know who i am,i’ve become someone new—nothing i just did is anything i would do...
Relationships: Johnny Marr/Morrissey
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	changing my major

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gramonist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gramonist/gifts).



> this is the product of me being an emo theatre kid—a marrissey fic based off the song "changing my major" from fun home, a funky autobiographical musical about small town gays. enjoy! <3 p.s. my life hasn't been the same since i read the bit about the blue eyeshadow in johnny's book

“Johnny?”

Steven had no idea what was going on.

“Johnn—oh my _ God _ ,” He sat up in his bed at lightning speed, half-asleep bliss wearing off in seconds. “Johnny, hi, oh God…”

_ Shit, he’s asleep, shut up, he’s gonna hear you. _

The wide-awake party found himself chanting Johnny’s name to himself like a prayer, and there was an  _ ohmygodpleasedontwakeup _ beckoning the boy beside him to stay asleep. 

Steven’s sudden rush of emotions led him to jump out of bed, wincing at the squeak of the mattress. He really,  _ really _ hoped Johnny was a heavy sleeper.

_ Johnny _ .  _ Oh my God. Oh my God, last night.... _

_ Was he really here? _

A glance to the other side of the twin-sized dorm mattress confirmed both Steven’s worst fear and something he hadn’t even realized he wanted until yesterday: Johnny was in his bed. 

_ What happened last night? _

To anyone witnessing the scenario, the answer to that question was obvious. To Steven  _ himself _ it was obvious. Or it would be, if his brain, which at the moment it felt like it was about to completely shut down, had the power of cognitive function. Unfortunately, there was positively too much going on for any rational thought.

A quick look at the clock let on that the time was 5:43am, and Steven could feel it. If it weren’t for the mixture of hormones and adrenaline running through his veins, he could’ve gone back to bed right then and there. He heard his mum’s voice in his head,  _ a growing boy needs his rest, _ and then the reason he was standing in the middle of his dorm with just his pants on really hit him.

***

After a lifetime of feeling the outcast, refusing to catch the girls throwing themselves at him, and an abnormal affinity for all things pretty, Steven figured it out. 

The first step was complete. The next one very much about to be, if Steven didn’t throw up first. After some poking around on the library bulletin board, he discovered a crudely-made poster that read: “GAY STUDENT UNION”. His first thought was that he could absolutely draw a better one. His second thought was regarding how absurd seeing that word there, out in the open, was. His third thought:  _ I’ve got to go _ .

So he showed up at Lomond Hall right on time, 6pm, and after a breath, walked into what might as well have been a whole new world.

There were more rainbows in that one room than Manchester saw naturally in a decade. There were girls in trousers and polos and buzzcuts, boys in lace and lipstick, and people in between and around. Some of them looked breathtakingly normal, like they could inconspicuously hold a 9-5 at the grocer’s and some of them didn’t— _ but what the hell was normal, anyways? _

They were mostly crowded in the center of the meeting hall, chatting amongst themselves. With some trepidation, Steven inched closer to the circle, completely awed. His eyes scanned the crowd and eventually settled on a boy in the centre who was slowly working on getting the attention of everyone around him. Steven figured he was in some sort of leadership position, and his suspicion was confirmed when the boy launched into a speech about how he was President of the GSU and how glad he was everyone attended. Or something. Steven wasn’t quite sure. He was having a hard time paying attention.

He felt some sort of feeling looking at the speaker. It made him nearly ill. It wasn’t just  _ some sort of feeling _ , and he knew that, but he didn’t want to come to terms with it. Not when he was younger—not now, in university—not ever.

It was the feeling he got when he was twelve and realized he wanted to be closer to his best mate than most boys did, the feeling he got when he watched Rebel Without a Cause at fourteen and got so obsessed with James Dean that he wrote a bloody  _ book _ about him. But that was easier to deal with, because James Dean was very much dead and very much not someone he could interact with.

The boy in front of him was real, tangible, someone with feelings and thoughts and a physical form and that was  _ much _ too complex for Steven. He was speaking animatedly, and Steven had a fleeting thought that he could be a theatre major the way his hands moved. Someone in the crowd shouted “Oi, Johnny!” and the boy laughed.

_ So that was his name then _ . It fit him well, somehow, and Steven looked at the firecracker in front of him, eyes gleaming with passion. His chest and stomach and a million other places in his body all tightened up, and he didn’t know what it was or why it was there but he didn’t like it. There were so many girls there, so many boys, so many  _ people _ in the room and he couldn’t take his eyes off of  _ one specific one. _

Steven had never seen anyone like him where he used to live. Not in his quintessentially dreary hometown, where anyone who broke the norm was outcast. Nobody had such disregard for the opinions of others like this boy, nobody dressed like they lived in one decade and styled their hair like they lived in another; he had shiny black hair, classic like vinyl, and it matched his leather jacket. It was sort of hard to see much else from where he was standing, and that was his reasoning for inching closer. Everything in him was telling him not to, and the feeling needed to be categorized now, or it would kill him. It would eat him up inside, corrode his mind, make him feel like some sort of monster in disguise. So he thought of all the words he knew, everything in his lexicon that could possibly describe it.

_ Love _ . No, that was emotional. Something you felt for family, or those you wanted to become family. Like he loved his mum. Just thinking about her in this situation was enough to make him sick, and he worried that she had some magical power that could tell her where her son was and what he was doing and  _ what he was _ before he had the chance.

_ Lust _ . The word made him cringe the second it popped into his brain and he wanted to swat it away, but once you thought of something you couldn’t un-think it. It wasn’t that, though. It was something less primal and ridiculous, had to be so Steven wouldn’t go insane, something more like...

_ Attraction _ .

Yes. That could be it. He could be attracted to this person. That didn’t entail any extra effort on his part, if it happened to be that way. He didn’t need to tell anyone or commit to anything. Steven could walk out the door right then and ignore it.

But the thing was, he didn’t particularly  _ want _ to. 

He wanted to go up to Johnny, introduce himself, jump headfirst into whatever this was. He was done with his speech, going from person to person, laughing and talking, so Steven cautiously approached the cluster, not really knowing what to do but with his mind made up to do something.

Johnny’s eyes caught his, and his face was warm and hospitable, and by then Steven’s initial goal of making the entire group accept him had completely melted away. He knew it was ridiculous, an insane thought for a legal adult to be having, but he wanted Johnny’s approval.

“Hello. I’m Steven,” he began.

Johnny grinned. “‘M Johnny,” and followed it up with, “You new here?”

“Yeah, art transfer from Sycamore.”

“Art! Nice to meet a fellow creative, innit?” Steven nodded and supposed that  _ yes, it was nice, _ even though he had no idea what Johnny even did ( _ other than wear makeup, which he just noticed now that he was up close, oh God _ ). He looked like some sort of misplaced rockstar, so it wasn’t a surprise when he said,

“Tryin’ to form a band for meself, I am,” 

And nobody spoke like that back home, and it was exotic and entrancing and Steven knew this boy’s bad grammar shouldn't have drawn him in even more and Keats was probably rolling in his grave right now, but he didn’t care. 

They kept talking, mostly about what they did, and Steven learned that Johnny played guitar and a whole other list of instruments he couldn’t remember, organized their University’s entire GSU, and knew way more than Steven could ever hope to about the entire world. 

Johnny was interested in his projects, moreso than anyone had ever been before, and Steven realized just how stupid some of his ideas sounded aloud. He’d never really verbally stated anything about his autobiographical cartoon series and how it was helping him find his identity, but Johnny didn’t laugh at him or make him feel bad. That was all Steven himself; his doubts, insecurities, and endlessly thick brain fog.

Somehow, during their chat, Steven found himself agreeing to take part in the Take Back The Night march the GSU was holding in a few weeks. All fine and dandy, really, except he had no idea what that was. 

“It’s a march to raise awareness for domestic abuse, we hold ‘em annually,” Johnny explained, and Steven barely even knew things like that existed, but he was willing to follow Johnny into anything. So when he said  _ we need some posters _ , Steven thought back to the sad state of the corkboard paper and immediately offered to draw some up.

Johnny said, “I can drop by your dorm later, if ya’d like,” in the most casual way, and Steven said  _ sure _ and wrote his room number on his arm and freaked out immediately. He knew Johnny was just interested in what he could draw, but a part of him wished it was more, and then another part of him yelled at that part of him, and this was such a goddamn confusing mess.

Just because Johnny fancied boys didn’t mean he fancied Steven, because he was a normal human being with standards and a type just like anyone else. Steven himself was the one who wasn’t normal, and he knew that, because he was just the sheltered small-town boy who didn’t know how any of this worked. As a result, he worried. He worried that there was an underlying current regarding the boy he just met, he worried that he worried too much, he worried that he didn’t worry enough at all—he worried until it made him sick. 

The book he’d pulled from the shop, the one that started this whole thing, it said _ you never stop coming out _ and he guessed that was true, because every new step he took in the direction of finding himself was like feeling those feelings from when he was twelve all over again, and it never truly stopped.

When Johnny came over, he pulled up a chair to Steven’s desk and started talking a mile a minute. Steven had some ideas, but he wasn’t sure, and Johnny was hesitant to trample his creative process.

“Just some simple drawings, right?”

“Yeah!” 

“Okay...I was thinking, like.” Steven sketched out a quick idea. ‘Something like this, maybe?”

“Woah. That’s really good.”

His eyes downcast. “This? No, this is just quick and stupid, I…”

Johnny had the attention span of a labrador retriever. “Hey, who’s that? In the picture?” he asked, referring to a framed photo on Steven’s desk.

“Oh. That’s my dad and I, when I was younger.”

“That’s your dad?”

“Yes.”

“He looks nice. Did he teach y’how to draw cartoons?”

Steven laughed, “No, definitely not.”  _ Not his dad, of all people. _

“Why’s that funny?”

“It’s not funny, I guess. He’s just more...I don’t know. Refined, I guess?” Steven didn’t really want to talk about this. He wanted to be there, presently in his dorm room with Johnny. Not where he grew up.

“Well, I think it’s cool he ain’t fazed by you bein’ a queer and all—”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Uh, sure.” The mood in the room had shifted to become even more uncomfortable than he thought was even possible. “Why?”

“Because,” Steven swallowed. “I don’t know how my parents feel...about...I mean, I just. Figured it out myself.”

“Oh, shit.”

“About a week ago.”

“Huh? With who?”

“With who  _ what _ ?” Steven stared blankly.

“Who were you with?”

“Oh. No, oh my God. No.” He could feel his face heating up. “I was in a bookstore.”

“In a bookstore?!” Johnny grinned. “Nice, mate—”

“What? No!”  _ Jesus Christ _ . “Listen. I was in a bookstore, a week ago, by  _ myself _ .” Steven stressed the last word. “I just wandered in there, and I was browsing, and I picked up this book. It was a bunch of, a collection of interviews, and I thought it looked interesting, and then realized...all the people, they were, well...”

“Gay.” The word of the hour.

“Yeah. Gay. And then I was like, oh my God, I’m g--”

“A fairy?”

“Yes. Okay. That.”

_ How could Johnny just say things like that and not want to immediately crawl into a hole and die? _

“And then. Then I totally flipped out and shoved the book back on the shelf and left. But then I came back the next day, and I got the book. And I read it. And then I was there again the next day, and I bought everything from that section, and then I went to the GSU meeting. And now...I’m here. So. Hi.”

“Hey,” Johnny said, demeanor softening for the first time since they’d met. “That’s some powerful book.” 

“Yes,” was all Steven could manage. The crescendo of conversation had died down, and he felt like he’d just bared his soul completely. It was so much easier to have done it than to explain it. To read it in a book was logical, words on paper, neatly tucked into a litte square. But to feel it. That was something else. That was intangible.

“Well, I should probably, uh, head out.”

“Okay.”

“See you at the next meeting? Could’ya bring the posters then?”

“Definitely.”

***

True to his word, Steven was at the GSU meeting a week later, with an armful of posters. They were full colour, attention-grabbing, and Johnny loved them.

“Bloody brilliant artist, he is,” he said, as everyone at the meeting crowded around, planning to plaster the posters all around campus. Johnny knew every bit of the place, somehow had a huge plan for something so simple as hanging up some advertisements, and Steven couldn’t believe it. He put his all into everything he did, from his work to his friendships. Nobody had ever taken real notice in Steven’s art before Johnny, save for his father who wanted to control it and twist it into his own projection of what his youth should’ve been. Even having friends,  _ real _ friends, was totally foriegn, and Steven felt like his whole life had turned upside down.

***

Johnny had been crashing Steven’s dorm sporadically, and the night of the march was no different. Most of the time he had a notebook, or his guitar, or just himself and his ideas—but this time it was different. He’d brought a bag with him, and when Steven eyed it, Johnny just sat on the carpeted floor and motioned for him to join. When he dumped out the bag, Steven recognized the contents as cosmetics and froze.

He had never—not once in his life—touched makeup. In fact, he actively avoided it so as not to give off the wrong impression. He already looked effete enough, he didn’t need any help,  _ thank you very much _ .

Johnny, naturally the total opposite, managed to completely teach himself the art of makeup, and he wanted to drag Steven into it with him. No matter how much he complained, he couldn’t convince Johnny that even though he himself looked good in it, there was no hope for Steven. His protests were simply met with,

“Nothin’ too much, if ya don’t want.”

Steven figured it couldn’t really hurt at this point, assuming his best friend being a boy who wore lipstick kind of associated him with it, too, but still. He had some completely illogical fear that what he was doing was going to get back home, and someone would find out, and he couldn’t deal with that. He still hadn’t told his mum.

“Fairy dust,” Johnny explained, waving a glittery compact in front of him. “May I?”

Steven nodded, not really sure what he was getting himself into, but the stuff didn’t look pigmented. Besides, he trusted Johnny. He was pretty sure he’d let Johnny kill him, if he wanted to.

“Close your eyes.”

He did as he was told, and the situation was suddenly much more ominous when he was enveloped in the darkness, but he kept his breath steady. This was entirely ridiculous, there were tons of students he knew on campus that looked much stranger than he ever could, but in primary school this would’ve been a death sentence, and he’d wanted it for  _ so long _ .

Johnny’s fingers brushed over his eyelids delicately, and the sensation was weird, but not bad. The contact didn’t last as long as he’d hoped, but when Johnny said  _ open _ and handed him a mirror, Steven felt content. He might even go so far to say he looked good. The glitter made his baby blues pop, and he made eye contact with Johnny, a silent  _ thank you  _ passing between them.

“My turn!” Johnny exclaimed, digging a small blue compact and a brush out of the bag. “Willin’ to do the honours?”

“What...is it?”

“It’s eyeshadow, you knob. Goes on the eyes. ‘S like painting, really.”

Okay, Steven could do that. He did that a lot, in fact. He swirled the brush in the pan and started to apply it, and his hand was shaking, which never,  _ ever _ happened when he was painting or drawing, so it had to be this situation, had to be Johnny, and that thought terrified him.

He tried his best to recreate the way he’d seen Johnny wear the eyeshadow before, knowing that this one was his favourite, and hoped he didn’t mess up too badly. Warmth filled his chest when Johnny looked at the result and gave him a thumbs up, and the small validation meant way too much to him, and he had no idea why Johnny was even entertaining him at this point. Steven was lightyears behind the rest of civilization in every way possible. He was, at worst, a liability, and, at best, a closet case halfway to insanity. 

Johnny finished his own makeup, lining his eyes perfectly, dusting a shimmering powder over his cheekbones, and when Steven questioned it, he got  _ it highlights them, love,  _ and he didn’t even think Johnny needed anything to further highlight his beauty, but he wasn’t complaining.

They got ready quickly after that, opting to wear their normal clothes, and was another instance where Steven felt incredibly plain compared to Johnny. He knew his cardigans and trousers made him look like somebody’s grandfather, but didn’t have the confidence to change it. Not then, anyway. Even if he did, he didn’t know what else he’d wear. He couldn’t just do whatever came to his mind like Johnny did. He didn’t know if he ever could.

Johnny grabbed his hand and tugged him down the building’s hallway into what was the hundreth new chapter of Steven’s life that had begun in not even a month’s time, and he was ready to start again.

***

For the second time since they’d met weeks earlier, Johnny described something as being  _ just like painting _ when it most certainly was  _ not _ . 

He’d conned Steven into painting his nails for him, the lacquer a garish silver that would look tacky on anyone else, but on him it blended right in. Ever the artist, Steven accepted the challenge, and now Johnny’s hand was on top of his thigh, and his fingers were shaking, and he wondered again why he had to go and be such a goddamn masochist. He repeatedly went way over the nail, having to scrape it away with his own nail, causing a huge mess, and really, Johnny could’ve done a much better job himself.

The task, at least, distracted Steven from anything else, which he was grateful for until Johnny brought it up.

“G’na tell your mum soon, then?”

The question found itself pointedly ignored.

“You’ve got to tell her at some point, love. She cares about you, y’know…”

Steven hated the topic, hated Johnny calling him that because it meant so much more to him than he knew, and he tried to focus on Johnny’s voice rather than what he was saying so he didn’t burst into tears. He had weeks to learn all the intricacies of his accent, and he knew it wasn’t fair to think of Johnny like some exotic animal, but he was just.  _ He was too special. _

What they  _ had _ was too special, and Johnny had taught him more than he knew was even possible, and Steven didn’t want to mess it up. He didn’t want to send his mum that letter or let Johnny know how he felt about him or experience any degree of change, because it was too overwhelming.

“I have a letter written and stamped,” he said, and Johnny’s eyebrows raised. “I’m just. Scared to send it, I guess. This all feels so safe.”

Johnny considered his words for a bit. “Am I a part of that?”

“Yeah. I haven’t felt this okay in a long time,” Steven finished painting Johnny’s thumb and capped the varnish. “I suppose I’m...scared to ruin it.”

“Well, from what you’ve told me, your mum seems like she’ll accept you no matter what,” Johnny made sure not to mess up his drying nails and placed his hand over Steven’s. “And if she takes a while to come ‘round, you have me, yeah? I’ll be your safety net, or somethin’. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Johnny grinned, and Steven thought he could charm a dead person, and  _ that’s really what he was doing, wasn’t it,  _ because his brain felt as though it had all but stopped working. And he knew he didn’t just feel that way because he thought Johnny was cute, though he was; it was because he was so close to him, because he could feel his hand on his, because he was  _ beautiful _ and made his heart beat faster and he loved him.

“Hey, Steven?”

Their eyes met. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Steven nodded ever so slightly, unable to move from where he sat, and Johnny glanced at his lips and then back up to him and then closed the distance between them and. _Wow_. _His lips are soft. This is so, so much better than I ever imagined._ Steven kissed him back, thinking, _Aphrodite, don’t forget me_ , because he had no idea what he was doing, _and he knew Johnny knew that but it didn’t stop him from kissing him, thank God_. All the misery and romantic failures and confusion he’d grown up with, it was all just leading up to that point, and it was beyond worth it.

Johnny took the initiative to end the kiss, searching Steven’s eyes, and if he was looking for a reaction all he would’ve picked up on was  _ bliss _ . That was the correct word, and Steven knew it on the first try.

“Was that okay?”

Steven felt a stupid smile spreading across his face, and he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, “Yes, oh my God, you have no idea.”

“Good,” Johnny’s fingernails were dry now, and he properly laced his fingers with Steven’s. “Now, you can say no to this, but I’m thinkin’ a trip to the post office might be due, yeah?”

“Yeah,” and there was a smile in his voice.

***

Steven felt the colour rushing to his face just thinking about how Johnny held his hand last night, rubbing circles on his knuckles with his thumb, calming him down when he dropped his letter into the mailbox.

It was nothing compared to what happened when they got back to Steven’s room, and remembering the hours they spent kissing alone was enough to make him feel hot all over again. It was during a particularly passionate kiss when Johnny straddled him, and both boys realised just how aroused they were. Johnny said  _ hey, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to _ , and Steven knew it was true, but he  _ wanted _ to. He’d spent his entire life in the dark about who he was, and he didn’t want to wait any longer, even if he had no idea what he was doing.

Johnny’s  _ is this okay’s _ and  _ are you alright’s  _ were incessant, and Steven couldn’t believe it was possible for anyone to care about him so much. For once, he was somehow the more enthusiastic of the two; he knew he’d been embarrassingly excited last night, all but giggling like a child every time Johnny’s lips met his, but Johnny didn’t seem to care. He just smiled right back.

When they both got their shirts off, Steven realized just how pretty Johnny really was, and he couldn’t believe this boy was in his room, someone he had him all to himself. When they both got their pants off, Steven thought he might die on the spot, and as he tangled his fingers in Johnny’s hair he said  _ I may be about to lose consciousness  _ and Johnny laughed and said it was  _ adorable _ but it was barely a joke because it was too much in the best possible way.

It was almost cringeworthy, the way he acted, and he was so glad Johnny didn’t walk out, think he was some sort of lunatic or animal. 

The world stopped every time Steven looked at him, and he wondered why he was wasting his time on cartoons when he could be doing  _ this _ all day, admiring Johnny, who, for some unfathomable reason, liked him,  _ loved _ him, even, because that was a thing he said and all Steven could say was  _ love you too _ , and he decided then that his career path had taken a turn, his future was shaken, and he was officially changing his University major to Johnny. The awake and alert part of him found the idea absurd, but the larger part of him—the one daydreaming about the boy in his bed— _ that one  _ found it quite plausible.

To spend the rest of his days with Johnny; a foreign study to his inner thighs, a seminar on how cute he looked in his Levi’s, a lifetime spent looking into his beautiful brown eyes.  _ That _ was Heaven.

And if he was majoring in sex with Johnny, then he was positively  _ minoring _ on kissing Johnny, which was clearly the next best thing. But it could be anything as long as it involved him. Holding his hand, talking to him, even just looking at him, because that alone made him feel like some sort of Hercules, which was ridiculous, and Steven looked ridiculous, he sounded ridiculous, and his thoughts were ridiculous, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. His attempts to calm down were fruitless, because every time he managed a semblance of it he remembered something from the previous night, and how good it felt.

It was surreal, like being full without ever knowing he was empty, being claimed without knowing he was free, and he knew he wasn’t anyone’s property, but when Johnny whispered  _ mine _ into his ear that alone almost sent him over the edge. He apologized after, of course,  _ don’t want ya to get the wrong idea,  _ but Steven didn’t, and it was okay, it was so okay, and he wanted Johnny to know that.

For a moment it was starting to not feel okay, because Steven passed his mirror in the middle of his uncoordinated nervous pacing. He looked the same he always did, with the exception of a large purple mark on his collarbone, but he didn’t feel the same. Nothing he’d just done was anything like him, and it both terrified him and excited him. 

He felt nervous, and dizzy, and excited and shaky and like he was going to lose consciousness  _ again _ just standing there.

Once he couldn’t face himself any longer he turned around, paying real attention to Johnny this time; the bed sheets,  _ Steven’s _ bed sheets were tangled up to his waist, and as the sun slowly rose the light illuminated his back. The closer he got to the sleeping boy, the cuter he looked, and all of the apprehensions he just felt melted away.

He had to stifle a laugh when he realised Johnny drooled all over his pillow, which somehow made his own embarrassing actions a bit less embarrassing. He looked so sweet, and the sight alone made Steven remember how he felt moments before. He was so,  _ so _ happy, and he never wanted to stop feeling it, never wanted to leave this room.

Even though Johnny was still fast asleep, Steven felt like he was the vulnerable one, and he was cold from being out of bed, so he decided to get back under the covers. Slowly, of course, and deliberately, because he didn’t want to wake up his sleeping beauty. His blanket smelled like Johnny, but he didn’t mind washing off the scent because he knew he’d be back. Didn’t even want him to leave in the first place, really.

Steven could write an entire thesis on the subject of the boy in his bed, staying up all night studying the angle of his spine. They could remain right there until finals, go to school forever, live only on one another. No food, no water. They didn’t need it. He’d tell guidance  _ sorry, mate, I’m in love, _ drop all his responsibilities, and take out a dementedly huge high-interest loan; because all of a sudden, art just didn’t seem  _ that _ great.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to kas for beta-ing this disaster <3


End file.
